


Inebriated

by The_Forgotten_Nobody



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Hurt d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 14:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Forgotten_Nobody/pseuds/The_Forgotten_Nobody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a night out drinking with Aramis and Porthos, d'Artagnan gets hurt. Athos is not impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inebriated

**Author's Note:**

> I've realised that both my Musketeers fic are revolved around drinking. This is unintentional and I would like to point out I am not encouraging it. 
> 
> Also, my characterisations are more of a mixture of the book and the BBC show.

If there were one word that accurately defined d’Artagnan, it would be headstrong. When coupled with his inexperience, the two often led the Gascon into trouble. Normally, it wasn’t a problem and the issue could be dealt with before it even began however on a night such as tonight, where there had been a lot of heavy drinking, the issue was allowed to continue.

“Do you insult a man who will one day become a fine Musketeer?” d’Artagnan questioned with cockiness that only one as inebriated as he could possess when facing three very large, intimidating men. They had been on their way out when confronted with the annoyed young man.

“Calm yourself boy, I wasn't talking to you,” said the man who had apparently deeply offended d’Artagnan. “I was merely jesting with my friends; leave us be.”

“I will not when you jest about me,” d’Artagnan replied. From the side, Aramis looked at Porthos questioningly.

“Do you think we should break this up before our young friend bites off more than he can chew?” He asked. Unlike d’Artagnan, he could hold his liquor and had a much clearer head. Clear enough that he could see a fight breaking out if d’Artagnan did not relent.

Porthos shook his head. “No, I would quite like to see how this plays out,” he said with a grin. Like Aramis, he could hold his liquor far better than d’Artagnan; however he had drunk far more and so was nearly in the same state.  It was for this reason that he was content to just watch and enjoy the show, forgetting that they had promised Athos that there would be no trouble that night.

Aramis sighed. “Fine, but should anything go wrong then we step in,” he warned. He remembered the promise, but at the same time any move on their part would likely embarrass the Gascon and they too would be on the end of his ire.

“Fine, fine, now hush.” Porthos resumed watching the skirmish.

“I say we duel,” d’Artagnan announced, still feeling affronted and not happy to just walk away.

The man opposite laughed, as did his friends. “Duel me in the state you are in? Be thankful I am in a good mood otherwise you might find yourself in quite the predicament,” he said, ready to leave.

“Are you a coward then?” D’Artagnan challenged. “Afraid I’ll beat you?”

Porthos snickered. “D’Artagnan is rather arrogant when drunk isn’t he?”

Aramis’ lip twitched as he responded, “Oh I’d say he’s arrogant even when sober, it’s just very misplaced right now.” He kept a close eye on the confrontation.

“I am not a coward, but you are a fool. You really should be grateful I didn’t come out to fight tonight. Let us go.” The man turned his back on d’Artagnan and the young Gascon was not allowing that. He flew forward and placed a hand on the man’s arm.

“Fight me, or let it be known to everyone here that you are a coward, too afraid to face his opponent.”

The man stopped in his tracks and huffed loudly in exasperation. “Fine, if that’s what you want then so be it.”

D’Artagnan threw the first punch, which, due to his intoxicated state missed and Aramis and Porthos knew this was their moment to step in. However, on his way over, Porthos managed to step on the foot of one of the man’s friends and Aramis knocked the arm of the other. With adrenaline running, it was not surprising that a brawl began, three against three.

D’Artagnan, young, intoxicated and comparatively weak, was actually doing fairly well against his opponent. What he lacked in strength, he made up for agility. It was just a shame that the alcohol slowed him and with every attempted hit his opponent was getting more and more angry and eager to finish this. The barman had at first attempted to stop them, but a brawl was not uncommon, especially at such a time at night and they had even managed to gather a fairly large audience.

Aramis and Porthos had just knocked their own adversaries down when d’Artagnan had finally become too slow and the man knocked him into a table, causing him to hit his head and slump to the ground.

“Finally,” the man muttered. He looked to his friends and rolled his eyes. “Get up you buffoons. I have a lovely lady waiting for me and I’m already late enough.”

The man passed Aramis and Porthos and scowled at them. “Keep a better handle on that boy otherwise the next time his foe may not be as gracious as me,” he told them.

Porthos looked like he was about to argue to Aramis answered. “Of course, I’m sorry for our friend. I do not think he is used to such drinking. Know that anything he said should not be taken too seriously.”

The man didn’t bother answering just led his two friends out of the bar. Aramis and Porthos then went to d’Artagnan who had not risen.

“D’Artagnan?” Aramis asked as he knelt down. Fortunately, d’Artagnan was not unconscious, but he had a large gash on his head which was bleeding a fair amount.

“My head,” d’Artagnan complained, frowning when he placed a hand on his head and saw the blood that was on it. Aramis expertly put a piece of cloth, handed to him by a pretty, young spectator, around it to keep it from bleeding out too much.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Aramis said as he pulled d’Artagnan up from his position on the floor. d’Artagnan slumped heavily against him and Aramis strongly suspected that he had a concussion. He grimaced. Athos would not be pleased; then again, hopefully he would not have to find out. It was a hopeful thought, considering the number of gossiping witnesses, but one he held onto all the same.

The three friends exited the bar with Aramis supporting d’Artagnan who was having trouble walking unassisted. Porthos had expressed some concern over the head wound but Aramis assured him that it only bled so much due to its location and that all d’Artagnan needed was rest and someone to wake him every couple of hours.

“I am never going drinking with you again,” d’Artagnan moaned into Aramis’ shoulder. Porthos laughed and Aramis rolled his eyes.

“I did not know you had such a weak tolerance, and I recollect that it was you who started the fight,” Aramis pointed out.

D’Artagnan just muttered something unintelligible in response.

They had decided to go to Aramis’ home because, as stated previously, d’Artagnan would need to be woken constantly if it was true that he did have a concussion and it was closest.  It was unfortunate for them, however, that along that route was Athos’ apartment and Athos, who had been by his window contemplating things as he was prone to do, had spied the trio and recognised them.

“What happened?” Athos demanded as he walked outside before they could get away. He looked at d’Artagnan, who had blearily raised his head in the direction of Athos’ voice, and frowned.  “I thought I was assured that you would all be fine.”

“Well, everything was initially alright, but it turns out that d’Artagnan is a light weight,” Porthos said, hoping Athos wouldn’t be too mad. Athos had made them wait before taking d’Artagnan out on a drinking night for the very reason that most nights something always went wrong. They had managed to convince him to let them go after promising they would be on their best behaviour. It wasn’t their fault that it was actually d’Artagnan’s behaviour they’d had to watch out for.

Athos was not impressed. “Get him inside before he falls to the ground,” he said, swivelling around and striding back into the house. Aramis pulled d’Artagnan along with him hurriedly, surprised that Athos was actually insisting they went into his apartment. Normally he was insisting they get out, but that may have been because the first time they went inside Porthos broke a stool.

Athos directed Aramis to his rooms and pointed to his bed. “Put him there and go get a bowl full of water and a cloth. I want to know how bad that wound is. Porthos, you can tell me exactly what happened.”

With a curious glance at his friend, Aramis did as Athos requested whilst Porthos retold the past events as best he could.

“You say the man insulted him, what did he say?” Athos asked when Porthos never elaborated.

Porthos scratched the back of his head. “Erm, well honestly I don’t know. I never heard it. In fact, I’m not sure whether they were even talking about d’Artagnan,” he admitted. “With every sip of wine d’Artagnan’s head seems to get a little bigger.”

Athos rolled his eyes and glanced at the boy in topic who was lying on the bed with his eyes clenched shut looking vaguely sick. The cut on his head was now only bleeding sluggishly but blood covered the makeshift bandage.

“This is exactly why I told you two to be careful,” Athos muttered as he accepted the items Aramis had brought him.

“It’s not our fault,” Porthos protested but at the glare Athos gave him he didn’t argue anymore. Aramis was still surprised at his friend. The behaviour he was exhibiting was far out of the ordinary for him.

“You two can leave now, I will look after him,” Athos said when Aramis and Porthos just stood there, watching.

“Are you sure?” Aramis asked, once again, baffled at Athos’ behaviour. If it were either he or Porthos in this position then he would just leave them to it.

“Yes. Is there a problem?” He asked, with a raised brow and they shook their heads.

“No…I suppose we’ll see you tomorrow,” Aramis said and both he and Porthos left, leaving Athos alone with d’Artagnan.

Once they were out, Athos set about tending to his newly acquired patient. He gently removed the bandage around d’Artagnan’s head who hissed at the sting. He opened his eyes and looked fairly confused to see that it was only Athos there, and no one else.

“Athos?” He asked, voice still slightly slurred.

“Yes, it’s me. You really can be quite idiotic at times can’t you,” he murmured, bringing the damp cloth to d’Artagnan’s head and wiping it.

It took d’Artagnan a while to realise he was referencing the brawl in the bar and he, for lack of a better word, pouted. “That man insulted me,” he argued.

“And what did he say?”

d’Artagnan’s brow crinkled in thought. “He said…he said…something I can’t seem to remember but it was deeply offending and I couldn’t allow him to get away with it.”

Athos sighed. “Of course you couldn’t.” He dipped the cloth back into the water again and d’Artagnan watched his movements.

“Why’re you doing this?” He asked. Like Aramis and Porthos had been, he was curious why Athos was being so…kind. Not that the man wasn’t a good friend, it was just that he was never so obvious in his expression and behaviour. Normally he was very reserved and left people to their own devices.

“Because I don’t trust Aramis and Porthos to look after you seeing as it is their fault you’re in this state. Not that you aren’t to blame also, mind you,” he added when d’Artagnan was beginning to look too pleased.

“I am never going drinking again,” he proclaimed once more and Athos gave a wry grin.

“Haven’t we all said that,” he commented, cleaning off more of the clotted blood.

“But I am telling the truth,” d’Artagnan mumbled. The gentleness of Athos’ touch was soothing and his eyelids were growing heavy.

Athos noticed this and said, “Go to sleep d’Artagnan. I will awaken you in a few hours to check you aren’t dead.”

“I won’t die,” d’Artagnan replied sleepily. “I have to at least become a Musketeer first.”

Athos gave a small half smile that was bordering affectionate. “That you do. Sleep now.”

D’Artagnan did as he was told and throughout the night he was woken by Athos who was diligent in his duties. By the time morning came, Athos was tired, but content that d’Artagnan was fine except for a small headache. D’Artagnan had tried questioning why Athos was tending to him at various points during the night but Athos would never answer him. He was either silent or would divert his attention by asking how he felt and testing him with questions.

At breakfast, Aramis and Porthos were pleased to see that d’Artagnan had recovered, though the Gascon had proceeded to tell them that he was never going out drinking with them again and that they were awful friends for allowing things to get that far. Porthos had just clapped him on the shoulder and told him to think of it as a new, exciting experience. One that he could elaborate to the ladies.

Whilst the two were talking, Aramis had given Athos a questioning glance, silently asking why he had helped d’Artagnan, but the man only shrugged in response and began a different conversation, changing the topic completely. Aramis had allowed it, but kept a mindful watch on his friend. He didn’t miss the subtle glances Athos gave d’Artagnan and vowed to keep a closer eye on the two. Something was going on, and he would make sure to keep note of any new developments that took place. 

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow this ended up a bit pre-slashy and I don't know how. Oh well! Also, as it doesn't look like my desire to write for this fandom is going to leave any time soon, feel free to send me prompts!


End file.
